


Devil's Cupid

by abeyance



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bounty Hunters, Bounty Hunters, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Grinding, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Jonerys Valentine's Challenge, Jonerys Valentine's Week, Love/Hate, Near Death, Rival Sex, Rivalry, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22720822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abeyance/pseuds/abeyance
Summary: Daenerys has the reputation as the best bounty hunter in the region - and the stories that follow her say that she leads men to bed only to kill them. But everything is thrown off balance when a new hunter - Jon Snow - starts taking her kills. They are rivals, quickly - until one night, one of her kills goes wrong.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 33
Kudos: 96





	Devil's Cupid

**Author's Note:**

> Written for iceandfiresource's Jonerys Valentine Week Day 1 (Leather): Enemies to Lovers.
> 
> PLEASE BE AWARE that there is a heavily implied sexual assault scene in this oneshot. if you would like to skip it for any reason, i have tagged the beginning and end of it with an ASTERICK*****

Her breath passed her fingertips as her eyes looked beyond them, arms locked in their notched position. The bow slightly groaned as Daenerys pulled it just a little tighter; she had her focus correctly on her target, and almost perfectly would her arrow hit them threw the neck - her signature move.

It was how her tops knew they were giving the money to the true assassin. If you died with an arrow in the neck, that meant you were an unfortunate bounty of Daenerys Targaryen.

Bringing them in hot was not an option. She hated small talk. Pleading for their lives wasn’t much better; actually, in her terms, it was a stem off of it. 

As her bounty started to rise from their studious position, Daenerys prepared to hear the  _ thwapt _ of her string releasing, the quiet choke before the suspected thump of a body.

And then their neck raised above the bush. She released her fingers, earning that  _ thwapt _ of the string--but instead of choking and the thud, her eyes watched as her bounty looked for the origin of an arrow that sped passed them.

Daenerys snapped her head to her bow. It was enchanted. It was what made her  _ the  _ bounty hunter. She never missed, and she never left life behind.

In that split second, a gasp came from her bounty. A knife was in their chest; they grasped and pawed at it as blood leaked out of their mouth.  _ Ugh. Messy.  _ Their eyes glassed over and they toppled to the ground.  _ Double ugh. They are supposed to cleanly fall onto their side. _ Now she would have to turn them onto their back. Their face would be dirty.

Sure, she brought them in cold. But also clean.

She had to get over the annoyance very quickly, though; because Daenerys did not own any knives, nor did she throw one. Someone else was here. 

Immediately, she stood from her bush, an arrow ready. Each foot crossed over the other as she scoped to the body, and where the knife’s angle seemed to come from. 

“I think the saying is ‘first comes, first served’,” a voice broke out from behind her. Daenerys spun on it, staying strong.

She was met with a man; dark, dangerous looking - almost as much as her. His face was a set of hard and soft all at once. Daenerys narrowed her eyes, wondering why curiosity was stopping her from putting an arrow through it (bounties were through the neck. Unwanted witnesses or intolerable people, through the eye).

“Who are you to mark yourself as  _ first _ , then?” very rarely did she cross ways with other hunters. But when she did, she had always beat them to it. 

He looked at the body next to them, and then took a step towards her. Daenerys made her stance even stronger than before. 

“Jon Snow. New hunter in the region.”

“We don’t need any new hunters.”

“Who just killed this bounty, then?”

“Not me, which is  _ not _ good.”

“Why? You pinkie promised?” He produced another knife from his leathers, slicing the dull edge across the bottom of his last finger, smiling mischievously.

“You’re new, so I’ll go easy on you,” Daenerys said, although she stepped closer. If she were to shoot him, the arrow would go straight through. “When there’s a bounty out, we claim it. And when  _ we _ claim,  _ we _ need to bring it back. Otherwise we will go untrusted with the next job. And payless.”

“Alright,”  _ Jon _ said, shrugging. “Take him, then. Would’ve had it a second later anyway.”

She missed, but that wasn’t important. 

“I can’t,” Daenerys sneered, glancing at the knife protruding. “They’ll know it wasn’t me.”

“I’ll pass it in, then. Give you half.”

She would still have the bad rep. It wasn’t worth it at that point. He  _ was _ the one who killed them plainly, too. After she missed.

“I don’t want your cheater money.” Daenerys walked closer - the tip of the notched arrow under his chin, pointing it up. He looked at her down his nose. “I also don’t want to see you again. Leave - this forest or region, I don’t care. But if I ever see your face again...one more kill for you that was meant for me?” she pressed slightly harder, knowing it bit into pain. “ _ You  _ will be the next one.”

Daenerys held an accidental gaze before pulling away, bow going to her side. She stalked off in the direction her strayed arrow flew off to and then marched away, leaving her stolen bounty and the new hunter behind.

</3 </3

Jon Snow kept his word. Not that he actually ever specified that he would, but in a way, he did.

But although she hadn’t seen his face since that first encounter, it didn’t mean she hadn’t wanted to just to rip it off.

There were two other hunters in her region. Counting Jon Snow, now three. But somehow the one addition had completely dried them out of bounties; to the point where their claiming strategy fell after a month, and now it was the horrid ‘First come, first served’ basis the arrogant twat had mentioned as his greeting.

There were four too many times that she had her arrow notched and bounty nothing more than a bag of her money waiting to be taken when a knife went into their chest instead.

The first (well, second) time it happened, Daenerys waited for him to show up after the body stilled. Waited for him to take up the offer of what would happen in their next face to face. But at some point, she lost patience and left. It wasn’t like she was getting money for his kill anyway. Either it be his own death or the bounty. 

It went like this too many times. Beyond enough to remind her how much she hated him, how much she wanted him to do something bad enough for a bounty to be on  _ him _ . 

And then fate started to test her.

Once, it happened at the same time. There was an arrow through the guy’s neck and a knife in his heart. Jon Snow didn’t appear that time, either, so Daenerys ripped the knife out and left it on the forest floor, dragging her bounty back to where she would score them.

Technically, the second time, she  _ did _ see him. Kind of. All four of the hunters were at a Ball that multiple Lords were attending...that were of their interest. Because of this, she decided the one time would be his one exception since they were all there. That, and she wasn’t technically seeing his face, since it was a masquerade. 

(She told herself that when she noticed she had looked into the eyes of her dancing partner once before that night - sure, his upper face was covered, but the softness of it was there. The hard lines, too, somehow, serving that curious purpose. The natural depth of his eyes. The hand at her waist as they wound up dancing together, feeling so similar to her own; the grip of a person who has killed for sport.)

Later on, Daenerys didn’t need a mask. She was close enough for the splatter of blood to reach her face as the guy pulled Jon’s knife out of him. But her arrow demised him soon after. At the opposite end of the hallway, Jon stood there, both of them out of their breath, coming quick with the adrenaline of the bounty’s resilience. He crouched down and grabbed his knife, and then he ran off. Daenerys scored that bounty, somehow.

When it occurred the third time, Daenerys was  _ pissed _ . Her mind was for some reason filling with the thought of Jon at  _ awful  _ times, and her sleep at night suddenly wasn't as cold with the memory of his hand on her waist. There were almost two weeks of it; but those two weeks were filled with uninterrupted, successful hunting, so Daenerys started to accept that it was a deal from the universe. 

It wasn't that bad. Her dreams were no longer as lonely and her nights had a faux warmth to it. Her thoughts were accompanied with something positive, and not the repetitive, generic commands of disassociation;  _ Eat now, Daenerys. Walk now, Daenerys. Sleep now, Daenerys. Wake up, Daenerys. Find your bounty, Daenerys. _

But as she grew more into the presence of  _ feeling ... _ well, she realized why she numbed herself from it in the first place.

The commands came from instinct. From the need for survival - and suddenly, she was attaching herself to something more than that. And it was affecting her work. 

Small, split second hesitations. The imagined scenarios and stories she had started to form while bringing the bounty to scoring on why they were being hunted in the first place. 

One anonymous night and dance with Jon Snow, and she was falling back into humanity. 

Which was why their next meeting was  _ so _ annoying. 

It was the same sort of deal as the masquerade - they happened to be in the same place, and when the bounty chucked Jon’s knife out of his heart, Daenerys’s arrow snuck into his neck. 

The feeling was so eerily familiar - even the blood splatter - that Daenerys at first thought it was just a memory. That she was maybe dehydrated and passed out or something.

But then she looked at Jon, and he wasn't looking at her.

Instead, he was holding his abdominal, where the discarded knife had made its way back to its owner in the most gruesome way possible. 

He collapsed onto his knees the same time Daenerys tripped over the fallen bounty in her run to him. The wind left her lungs as she landed hard on her stomach, but her body dragged her over in between gasps.

His hands shook as he sat back on his heels and let himself just lay down. Daenerys watched, terrified.

_ Of what? That point that Jon Snow is dying in front of her, or the fact that she doesn’t want him to? _

Jon Snow wrung on the ground uncomfortably, trying to distract from the pain. 

“You were probably the worst person for this to happen in company of,” Jon Snow gritted. She watched his jaw clench, and the overwhelming want to see him do that in  _ very _ different situations moved her completely into decision.

Using the flint from her arrow heads and one of Jon's knives, a fire was made. Not big, but enough to heat a blade that could sear the wound closed.

(She helped him up afterwards, gave him a nod, and then walked off before having to watch him limp away.)

</3</3

It was months after that. 

The decision to not let him die on that forest floor by his own blade still haunted her. But so did the vision of his face slacking and the brief scream he let out as she burned his flesh back together.

And the joy she felt when seeing the resemblance between him and her bounty across the tavern was even more terrifying than that moment weeks ago.

It didn’t scare her that she was going to have to kill this look-a-like. Plain killing wasn’t always how she did things.

Sometimes, she would find herself in the company of her bounties long enough to know why they were about to be killed. 

She didn’t know why exactly this specific one was being killed; probably not for the same reason she saw. But Daenerys had to refrain her instinctive grab for her bow as he grabbed yet another working barmaid’s shoulders, whispering into her ear with a devilish smile that the girl did not return. When the girl ducked out of his hold, he took the liberty to grope her backside as she walked off.

At least he would be an easy target.

Sometimes, Daenerys found giving some of her pay from the bounty to an inn for a mattress or sheets replacement. Rips were easy to replace - bloodstains were not.

It was why she didn’t do it often; she didn't like to lose money just to tease a man in a bed before his death. But some had a few excuses. Sometimes it would be a right end.

Daenerys tried to convince herself that was the reason to her wanting to bring him up. It wouldn’t be to tease  _ herself _ with a man who looked like a certain hunter, no - this  _ Daario Naharis  _ and his dark eyes and hair and brooding manner was an  _ asshole _ , who deserved to be tricked as so. And that was the  _ only _ reason. Not because she just wanted a small taste of what Jon Snow may be like.

(Later, after her anxiety had settled from seeing an almost dead-Jon-Snow, her thoughts of his parted lips, arched neck, hooded eyes, flashed throughout her mind with a different feeling instead of pain. It left her empty and needing.)

She was right when thinking he would be easy; after a few selected looks and touches, she found Daario Naharis in her rented room, pressing her against the door, kissing her on her neck.

Something was off in the hard clench of his hand that flanked her. In the way he wasn’t letting her move off the door, how he barely moved to take her clothes and instead just grabbed her through them. Hard.

“Bed,” Daenerys pretended to gasp. Her arrow was under the pillow. 

He obliged, but not in the way she planned. *

Her bounty’s hips pinned her to the bed, their heads at the footboard. It was times like this that her height came into disadvantage; not even her feet could touch the pillows, nevermind somehow take hold of the arrow underneath.

He pushed himself between her legs, rubbing himself against her. Daenerys once again applauded herself for always wearing pants, never skirts, no matter the job.

At this point in a regular setting, Daenerys would take charge. She would flip them over and ride them. But when she moved to anchor her foot, his hand found her thigh, restraining it into the bed.

Her heart pumped loudly. 

It was getting too much. This was usually a quick thing. She got them into bed, let them maybe grab a boob, and then she would stab an unexpected arrow head through their neck. 

She looped her arms around his neck, hoping to find that one pulse point that would knock him out. Before she could, though, he pinned her hands above her, painfully on the hard edge of the footboard.

Daenerys squirmed under him. His hips pressed further into her, stopping the movement. She felt him growinst her

“I always like them more resilient, I must say,” he growled. “But never thought I’d be able to catch the one  _ Daenerys Targaryen, _ most resistant of them all.”

_ Shit. _

This job was pretty easy. Sure, lonely. And partly dehumanizing. But simple. 

But that was only when they didn’t know her name. Because when you are a bounty hunter, especially one with methods, you’re talked about. 

Daenerys, unfortunately, was only talked about in her methods of bedding-and-killing.

_ Devil’s Cupid _ , they would call her. Too beautiful for a bounty hunter, so when she found herself in those sticky, non-consensual situations...she would kill them (or consensual. There were multiple versions, and most were told by men who supposedly lived through a night with her). 

(Which was always a lie).

A whimper escaped, and she hated herself for it.  _ You're smart. Find the way out of this. _

Quickly, she found that Daario Naharis was smart, too.

He kept her wrists in one hand and pelvis in between his knees as he kneeled back, searching under the pillows.

“Ah,” he exclaimed, leaning back over to her. The arrow pressed into her jaw. “Into some odd play, aren’t we?”

He rocked against her. Daenerys whimpered again, louder.

“Tell me, is it the pain of others,” he ducked down into her ear, pressing the line of the arrow against her, harder into her skin. “Or yourself, that gets you off?”

It had honestly been too long to know for sure. But she couldn’t tell him anyway. 

She didnt breathe until the pressure of the arrow released - but not because he was done. He took that hand to reach down to the front of his pants. 

She took the opportunity to thrash herself against the bed. Enough for him to partially lift off of her; and with some work, Daenerys slipped out from under him.

But not for long. Daario Naharis was quick at repinning her, this time against the pillows and on her stomach. A pillow was trapping her hands infront of her.

Daenerys hated herself when tears formed in her eyes when hands found the hem of her leather pants, knowing she couldn't stop it.

Her neck was at a position where she couldn't scream. Her lips formed the words  _ no, no, no. _ But he couldn't hear them, nor could anyone else. Nor would they care.

The bed knocked against the wall as he situated himself. Danerys was able to turn her head to the side, but that was as far as any part of her could go.

The pressure of his body left her torso for a second - in it, she tried to find a will to move. But instead, a thought impueded on her brain, freezing it.

_ You've killed all who have tried to bed you. This is only part of what you deserve. _

She repeated that one, two, three times before realizing how  _ stupid _ it sounded. 

And that's when she bounced her knees, trying to find their purchase into strength to push him off of her. *

His weight toppled off of her in the first push up. A thud sounded on the floor, and Daenerys whipped her head towards it. 

Daario Naharis laid still on the hotel floor, an arrow in his neck.

It wasn’t at the same angle she would shoot it at. But it was her arrow. 

“Are you alright?”

Daenerys whipped her head  _ again, _ this time to Jon Snow, standing at the base of the bed. His words were to her, but his eyes were hard on the body.

She let out a breath, ignoring his question, swinging her legs to the floor and collapsing beside the body. She scanned the neck wound.  _ Would it work? Would they think it was still her kill? _

“Daenerys.”

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “It's just part of the job.”

“Getting raped is not part of the job.”

“I wasn’t getting raped.”  _ You were about to be. _ “I had it under control.”

“His fucking dick was out, Daenerys. And your only weapon was six feet away from you.”

Daenerys finally looked at him, annoyed.

“And where is it now? In his neck.” She jumped to her feet, pointing to the body while stalking towards it. She got in his face. “By you. Taking my kill,  _ again. _ ”

“Don’t see how that's a problem right now,” Jon Snow shot back. “Don’t do this with me. Not right now.”

“What's the difference between right now and every other time?!”

“ _ Stop it. _ ”

“Stop  _ what. _ ”

“Pretending you have to be all tough all the time! Not even letting yourself accept that you were in trouble!” 

“I  _ wasn’t _ .” And yet, her voice betrayed her. His eyes stayed wide on her, bewildered. She felt her eyes soften, her throat relax. “I wasn’t.”

A tear slipped out, and she tried to blame it on already being there. She looked at the ground, and she tried to blame it on the intense sincerity of his gaze. 

She watched his feet step close to her. She kept her head where it was letting it tuck into his shoulder as Jon Snow hugged her.

His arms wrapped around her ribs as she let her own sling around his neck. This time, they weren’t pinned above her head.

Suddenly, her breathing came faster. With irritation that Jon Snow had just saved her ass. Desire, from the fact that he was hugging her next to the body she chose to seduce because it looked like him. Because she wanted a taste of deep fantasies.

Daenerys pulled away from his shoulder and kissed him. It was a way to fill both outlets. A wordless thank you, a contented void.

He kissed her back, a hand at her cheek, and then broke off from her. 

“Daenerys, you don’t want this right now.” 

She opened her eyes, staring into his. His hand fell to her waist; a reminder of a night from months ago, when this feeling first ignited.

“Dany. And yes, I do. So do you.”

She guessed that look in his pupils correctly, because then Jon Snow kissed her. 

It fell into a needy, desperate act quickly. Their lips greedily closed around each other, their teeth knocked together, their fingers found each other's hair and clothes.

He let her take complete control; he sensed her want, and knew it was a foundation of loneliness and vexation and dreams that weren’t ever quite enough.

Jon Snow was sitting on the edge of the bed, and Dany was straddling his lap, curls in her palms, teeth in her lips, growing heat in her core. 

Her pants were leather. His own were corduroy. The texture made for surprisingly good friction. Especially as her grinding coaxed his cock to the state of readiness and coaxed her into sensitivity. 

She tried to make it quick - just the pent up frustration to get over with, to just get each other off. But she knew that wasn’t what they really wanted - they wouldn’t ever be able to fully walk away. Which was why she allowed him to remove his shirt and massage her breasts, why he was able to kiss down her stomach and lap at her folds. 

Dany tried to return the favor. But it seemed that the rocking of his hips against the sheets to her moans was enough of foreplay to him. She found herself straddling him again, and they found themselves groaning in synchronization as she settled herself onto him.

Jon sat up almost immediately; hugging her close by banding her waist with his arms, meeting her rocks with his own thrusts. Dany brushed her fingers against the burn left behind from that stab on her way to gripping his shoulders. Her clit found enough stimulation against his lower flesh to reach her to her peak for a second time, and she whispered in his ear to release inside of her as her tightening walls quickened him to the top of his own mountain.

Their clothes went against their sticky, sweaty skin as they replaced them back on their bodies. The body had run completely cold during their time together; which was bad in regards to the stains on the floor boards, but somewhat easier to carry back to the scorer. 

(Although, that might have been because there were two people instead of one.)

(That was a common theme of realization, as they continued on with a partnership. Everything was easier and quicker together.)

**Author's Note:**

> happy valentine's day, loves. gotta say, im a bit nervous to post some of my Leather prompts even this one! but here we go!
> 
> if you want something sweet, go read my Friends to Lover/Childhood Sweetheart Valentine's Day One shot, Challenge: Valentine on my profile!


End file.
